Small Changes, Big Differences: Problems with the 2025 Reissue of In The American West

Above: "Mike Bencich, Dan Ashberger, coal miners, Somerset, Colorado, 8/29/80," by Richard Avedon

Two months ago I rhapsodized about Richard Avedon's In The American West, which I consider the greatest American photographic contribution since WWII. I talked about how rare the images are and the unique circumstances in which I came to find them. I was happy to share that the images would finally become easily accessible, in the form of a reissued book.

Alas.

I had a chance to look over the new Abrams release myself, and my heart sunk as soon as I opened the pages. The pictures are there, but their essence, their life and sparkle and indomitable presence– have been removed. How? Why?

The short version: 1) I love these images. And 2) Don’t buy this book. Here’s the breakdown:

As a professional photographer familiar with darkroom practice and the difference between various printing methods I recommend avoiding this release. Printing costs for art books have risen dramatically in the last 20 years, and publishers cut corners more than they used to in order to maximize profit. Sadly, the latest reissue of this monumental series is a victim of this approach.

I own the 1985 first edition, and a side-by-side comparison with the 2025 release is a heartbreaker: the 40th anniversary book features noticeably less dynamic range, uses a non-lustre paper type that has too much texture to represent fine detail, an ink/paper combo that resists full blacks, and an overall lack of fidelity when compared to the original images. As fans of the photos know, Avedon was meticulous and supervised the original book. This publication differs wildly, and although things like tonal range and resolution sound like technical details, they do have an emotional impact. The 1985 book grabs you by the throat; this one leaves you indifferent. Which is really saying something, considering how striking Avedon's original images are.

[Because digital cameras are inferior to film on precisely the areas we're comparing, and because uncalibrated computer monitors have subtle differences of their own, the best method of highlighting the problems is to use words instead of photographs.] Thus:

These examples are all taken from images early in the book for your convenience in comparing, but the problems exist throughout the whole book:

1. In the first picture, look at Allen Silvy’s rightmost eye. In the 1985 book we can discern and visually separate his eyebrow hair, his eyelid, and his eyelash. In the 2025 book all three of these elements are muddled into the same hue of dark grey.
2. Take a look at the face of Loudilla Johnson (Loretta Lynn fan club triptych, center face); in the 1985 book, she's glowing; in the 2025 printing, her face looks greasy. The gray goes to white too quickly. Look at the out-of-focus neck of Kay Johnson, to the right of her; in 1985 we get a subtle gradation that in 2025 looks instead like digital sludge. Loretta, on the left, also had more light-colored strands of hair that in 2025 are rendered as an invisible white.
3. For a more striking example, look at the title page image (Mary Watts/Tricia Steward (factory worker with her niece); in 1985, niece Tricia's eyes pop, and her face is comprised of many shades of light grey. In 2025, her face goes to near-white almost immediately. And notice how the ink creates a different shade of black for Tricia's shirt, which feels more brittle, less rich.
4. Look at housekeeper Patricia Wilde's freckles; she has less of them in the 2025 version, and the details of her hair are less readable.
5. One of the joys of these photos has always been how crisp they are, coming as they do from 8x10 negatives; one cannot experience that joy in the 2025 reissue. For instance, Patricia’s hair strands above, and the detail in Judy Gustavson's eye (wife of unemployed copper miner Roy Gustavson, a couple pages further in).
6. But if you needed any inarguable proof that the book is presenting something different than the original intent, look at Roy Gustavson's face's skin color! It's totally changed! Did he just spend 40 years in a tanning salon?? :) What's the deal? If this doesn’t say shoddy print job, I don’t know what does. Notice also the comparative lack of tonal range in the stripes on his shirt.

In summary, the new book appears to have been taken from a third-generation source, most likely digital scans of pages of the old book, rather than first or second-generation sources like proof prints or negs. There's a reason the high online price for the 1985 and 2005 editions has not gone down, despite the availability and low price of this 2025 book; it's simply not the same experience. I encourage seeking out the earlier editions– both the 1985 and 2005 contain a line on the front matter page that reads, "printed and bound in Japan." That's how you know you're getting the good stuff.

If you've seen the prints in person, as I have, or own the 1985 book, this printing will be a massive disappointment. For Abrams and Italy's Conti Typocolor (where this book was printed, unlike all previous editions), this is an embarrassment that's offensive to Avedon's legacy and the legacy of his most significant and essential body of work. Should we be surprised, then, that this reissue is nowhere to be found on either the Avedon Foundation website nor that of Conti Typocolor?

In one important way, Abrams’ catastrophic cash grab of a blunder actually continues Avedon's wishes. The pictures were never meant to be widely available. They have always been hard to find, something you have to search for, travel far to see, not unlike Avedon himself driving for hours and days to stay in touch with the friends he found in making this series. In our day nothing is sacred because everything is accessible, repeatable, duplicable. Scarcity is the new currency of value. And Avedon's climactic, most talked-about, most influential photographic contribution has unexpectedly remained exactly that: scarce, elusive, rare. It is rare no longer by design but by the incompetence and greed of publishing bureaucracies, but maybe that's neither here nor there. What really matters is that the pictures, like the people in them, continue to live mostly hidden lives, far from the limelight, available to be appreciated only by those with eyes to see.

Janet Tobler, housewife, and her husband Randy, insulator, Glenrock, Wyoming, 9/4/83